road into the great high hall where we were received by the Queen herself. A feast had been prepared for us, and we gorged on baked swan, lamprey stew and roast boar, with sweet white bread, and refreshed ourselves with the delicious light red wine of Bordeaux, part of Eleanor’s ancestral fiefdom. When the meal was done and we had sluiced the grease from our hands, Robin, Tuck and I were ushered into a private chamber off the side of the hall overlooking the river, along with a couple of the other guests:Walter de Coutances and Hugh de Puiset, two of King Richard’s most loyal supporters in England.
‘Good of you to come so swiftly, Robert,’ said the Queen in French, allowing Robin to stoop and kiss her heavily ringed hand. She had a wonderful voice, deep, rich and a little husky, that sent a delicious ripple down the spine of any man who heard her speak. ‘I know you have your own troubles at present.’
‘He is my King, Your Highness, in chains or out of them,’ replied Robin gravely in the same language. ‘He made me what I am, and I do not forget his kindness.’
Eleanor smiled at me. ‘And if I remember rightly, you are Alan Dale, my scapegrace trouvère Bernard’s old pupil. We met at Winchester, I recall, in rather dramatic circumstances.’ And she favoured me with a nod and twinkle from her bright brown eyes. I was struck once more by how beautiful Eleanor was; she must have been nearly seventy but she remained slim and lithe and her skin was as unlined as a girl’s. Her memory was still excellent, too. She was referring to a time three years ago when I had been publicly unmasked as an outlaw under her roof, a cuckoo in the nest, you might say, and had been unceremoniously slung into the deepest dungeon.
I merely bowed and mumbled: ‘Your Highness, I’m honoured that you remember me …’ and then trailed off, unsure whether or not it would be the proper thing to comment further on my former humiliation in Winchester.
Robin saved me from having to say more: ‘My lady, would you be kind enough to share with us the latest information that you possess about King Richard,’ he said.
‘Yes, you are right, Robin – to business. Walter, what do weknow so far?’ said the Queen, looking over at the short, rather dumpy middle-aged churchman standing to her left.
Walter de Coutances might not have seemed very impressive, and his speaking voice was the dull, inflectionless monotone of a dusty scholar, but he was said to be the cleverest man in England, and he was surely one of the most powerful. He had been a vice-chancellor under the old King Henry, and then had been made Archbishop of Rouen by him. When old Henry died, Walter had invested Richard as Duke of Normandy and had helped to crown him King of England three years ago. I knew him by sight, as he had accompanied Richard on the Great Pilgrimage, but he had been sent back to England from Sicily to act for the King at home in his absence, and we had never actually spoken to each other.
Walter cleared his throat. ‘The truth is that we do not know very much,’ he began. ‘We understand that Richard took ship from Outremer in October of last year and that, as most of Europe was closed to him, he attempted to travel in secret up to Saxony in eastern Germany, where he was sure of a friendly welcome from his brother-in-law Duke Henry. He landed, we think, somewhere to the east of Venice, near Aquileia on the Adriatic coast …’
As Walter continued in his dry voice, I reflected how unfortunate it was that Richard had made so many enemies among the powerful men of Europe while taking part in the Great Pilgrimage. As well as a falling out with King Philip of France and Duke Leopold of Austria, he had alienated Henry VI, the Holy Roman Emperor, Leopold’s overlord and ruler of most of Italy, by making a treaty with Tancred of Sicily, a rich island that the Emperor coveted. With France and Italy barredto him, Richard had little choice but to take
‘Good of you to come so swiftly, Robert,’ said the Queen in French, allowing Robin to stoop and kiss her heavily ringed hand. She had a wonderful voice, deep, rich and a little husky, that sent a delicious ripple down the spine of any man who heard her speak. ‘I know you have your own troubles at present.’
‘He is my King, Your Highness, in chains or out of them,’ replied Robin gravely in the same language. ‘He made me what I am, and I do not forget his kindness.’
Eleanor smiled at me. ‘And if I remember rightly, you are Alan Dale, my scapegrace trouvère Bernard’s old pupil. We met at Winchester, I recall, in rather dramatic circumstances.’ And she favoured me with a nod and twinkle from her bright brown eyes. I was struck once more by how beautiful Eleanor was; she must have been nearly seventy but she remained slim and lithe and her skin was as unlined as a girl’s. Her memory was still excellent, too. She was referring to a time three years ago when I had been publicly unmasked as an outlaw under her roof, a cuckoo in the nest, you might say, and had been unceremoniously slung into the deepest dungeon.
I merely bowed and mumbled: ‘Your Highness, I’m honoured that you remember me …’ and then trailed off, unsure whether or not it would be the proper thing to comment further on my former humiliation in Winchester.
Robin saved me from having to say more: ‘My lady, would you be kind enough to share with us the latest information that you possess about King Richard,’ he said.
‘Yes, you are right, Robin – to business. Walter, what do weknow so far?’ said the Queen, looking over at the short, rather dumpy middle-aged churchman standing to her left.
Walter de Coutances might not have seemed very impressive, and his speaking voice was the dull, inflectionless monotone of a dusty scholar, but he was said to be the cleverest man in England, and he was surely one of the most powerful. He had been a vice-chancellor under the old King Henry, and then had been made Archbishop of Rouen by him. When old Henry died, Walter had invested Richard as Duke of Normandy and had helped to crown him King of England three years ago. I knew him by sight, as he had accompanied Richard on the Great Pilgrimage, but he had been sent back to England from Sicily to act for the King at home in his absence, and we had never actually spoken to each other.
Walter cleared his throat. ‘The truth is that we do not know very much,’ he began. ‘We understand that Richard took ship from Outremer in October of last year and that, as most of Europe was closed to him, he attempted to travel in secret up to Saxony in eastern Germany, where he was sure of a friendly welcome from his brother-in-law Duke Henry. He landed, we think, somewhere to the east of Venice, near Aquileia on the Adriatic coast …’
As Walter continued in his dry voice, I reflected how unfortunate it was that Richard had made so many enemies among the powerful men of Europe while taking part in the Great Pilgrimage. As well as a falling out with King Philip of France and Duke Leopold of Austria, he had alienated Henry VI, the Holy Roman Emperor, Leopold’s overlord and ruler of most of Italy, by making a treaty with Tancred of Sicily, a rich island that the Emperor coveted. With France and Italy barredto him, Richard had little choice but to take
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